Page 45 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

H unter

I’m walking out of statistics, sun glaring hard off the concrete, when I see her again.

Sofia Martinez.

She’s a graduate student and TA for my electrical engineering class.

Smart, and serious in an ‘I’m busy and important’ way.

She’s tough with grading and a stickler for not wasting her time in tutorial.

I’ve never spoken to her outside of class, but the past few days I’ve caught her looking at me more than once.

This time she doesn’t look away.

"Hey," she says, falling into step beside me. “You’re Hunter Sorrin, right?”

Before my initiation, I roamed the campus incognito, no one realizing the guy next to them in class was on the radio at night. But after becoming a Baron, that gift of anonymity is no more. “I am.” I frown. “Is there something wrong with my project?”

“No.” She tightens her grip on the tablet tucked to her chest. "This isn’t about stats.” She tucks a piece of dark hair behind her ear and glances over her shoulder. “Can we talk somewhere quiet?"

“Sure. Lead the way.”

She takes me around the back of the building, where there’s a cement bench half-eaten by ivy and the hum of generators in the walls.

She taps the edge of her tablet. “You host the radio show on WXFU.”

So this really isn’t about statistics. “Yep.”

“I listen sometimes, when I’m working in the lab. There are times coffee isn’t enough.”

“I hope it helps.”

She laughs, showing her white, straight teeth. “Well, your taste in music is shit, but there are other things I find interesting.” Again, she looks nervous. “You know, some of the chatter in between.”

I talk a lot during my show–probably more there than I do at any other time of the day.

I bullshit and bluster, gossip and report, but I have a feeling she’s talking about something else.

Something more recent. “You mean the part where I call out the fact that girls keep disappearing and nobody seems to give a damn?”

She nods, but those shoulders don’t loosen. “Do you believe in patterns?”

I angle toward her. “I’m an engineering major. Of course.”

She swallows. “Three weeks ago, someone followed me home from a bar.”

I go still.

“Some guy I didn’t know bought me a drink. I didn’t touch it. Something felt off. I went outside to call a rideshare. He came out five minutes later. No jacket. No phone. Just followed me down the street like he was out for a walk.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

She shakes her head. “Baseball cap. Average face. Could have been any frat boy on campus.”

“What happened next?”

“I found two girls waiting on a car and asked them if I could join in. No one asked why.” A shiver runs up her spine. “Everyone on campus is taking extra precautions right now. So yeah, I got home safe, but after that I started getting DMs.”

She pulls out her phone and shows me.

Anonymous accounts. Blank profile pictures. Messages like:

“You looked beautiful in blue.”

“I like how your hair smells.”

“Working late again tonight, Sofia?”

I clench my jaw. “You report this?”

She scoffs. “Campus security said to walk with a friend and change my password. Cops told me unless he touched me, their hands were tied.”

“Fuck.” I rub my temples. “That’s scary. I get it. But I’m not sure it’s enough to make the connection. We haven’t heard of any evidence of repeated stalking or harassment.”

Her jaw tightens. “So you don’t believe me. You think I’m lying? Looking for attention or something?” She rises. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Shit,” I say quickly, grabbing her forearm and dragging her back down. “I believe you have some creepy fucker watching you and sending you messages. It’s not that.”

“Then what?” she asks, glaring. Hurt.

“You asked about patterns. I’m not sure that’s a pattern. If anything, it feels really different. Like maybe you’ve really got a stalker following you around. Someone interested in you, specifically.”

“But there is a pattern,” she argues, looking both stressed and annoyed. “The women going missing, they all have ties to the Royals, right?”

“Yes, so far that seems to be a pretty consistent connection.”

She tugs at the sleeve of her sweater. “There’s something most people don’t know about me.”

I watch as she rolls the edge of her sleeve up, revealing a tattoo. It’s black and green, an image of a coiled snake, posed ready to strike. The letters for KNT, underneath.

“The Counts,” I state, staring at the tattoo. The location and precision. It may as well be a brand. “A former Countess?”

She shakes her head. “My half-brother was a Count. An important one.”

“I assume he’s dead?” Like almost everyone else in North Side.

“He’s dead,” she affirms. “But not from the explosion and I do my best to keep my relationship with him a secret. No one needs to know, and until all of this, I didn’t think anyone did know.

It’s not good for my aspirations of becoming a professor.

And we’re half-siblings. Different fathers.

Different lives that only intertwined when we both landed here. ”

“Then why the snake tattoo?”

“His idea.” The dark way she laughs makes me think it wasn't just his idea but forced. “To ‘keep me safe.’”

“Any particular reason why?”

She shrugs. “He had a lot of enemies, and in Forsyth it isn’t uncommon to go after family.”

That’s a little hard for me to understand as an only child. Sure, I call DK and the other Shadows my brothers now, but even after the oath and bloodletting it’s still ceremonial. Having that bond with someone is unfamiliar.

“So what you’re telling me is that your connection to a Royal is probably what made you a target.”

She nods.

“Fuck.” I sink back and thrust my hands in my hair. “Okay, I see what you mean, but I will point out that the texts are different.”

Unless maybe they aren’t? Has anyone checked phone records? Deleted messages?

“I know. And I’m willing to admit this could be something else. But you put the call out for any information.” There’s a beat of silence. “I don’t know why I came to you, but the way you talk on the radio–like you're not afraid to piss people off. I figured you might actually believe me.”

“Thanks for trusting me,” I say, even though it feels weird. It’s not like I’m a good guy here. If anything, the King is looking to protect the Barons’ reputation and shut down whoever is fucking things up. She’s not exactly full nobility, which is exactly why I add, “I’m going to need to know.”

“Don’t.” Her voice is soft–small compared to the voice of the brillant woman I’ve seen instruct an entire class. The softness betrays the truth: she’s terrified. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Sofia, who exactly is your half-brother?”

The conflict that flits over her face ranges from fear to anger to what I think is a touch of humiliation. She sucks in a breath and says, “Perez. Bruno Perez.”

The diner on Sixteenth isn’t technically located in neutral territory.

The shiny aluminum building is situated on the edge of West End, but it’s only a half a block to the East End line.

The greasy fried foods, hot coffee, and homemade pie make us willing to enter enemy territory, but the intimidating presence of the owner, Clarence, makes it a safe place to eat as well as a location for off-the-record discussions.

DK and I push through the door just as the bell overhead lets out a tired jingle and note the sign over the counter: No Weapons. No Smoke. No Drama. Just Eggs.

Sy's in the back booth, taking up more than his share of space. He’s massive–thick-shouldered, blue-eyed, and built like the kind of guy who’s more weapon than man. Lavinia’s curled beside him, all blue hair and a mesh top that does nothing to hide the pink bra underneath.

There’s a mountain of pancakes in front of Sy. Lavinia’s plate isn’t far behind. It’s filled with bacon, eggs, and hash browns covered in what looks like every leftover in the kitchen.

I slide into the booth across from them. DK sits beside me, eyes sharp, scanning everything like he always does before we get down to business.

“Nice scratch,” DK says, tipping his chin at Sy’s face.

Sy wipes a hand across the small cut on his cheek. “Damn cat. I keep saying we should declaw him.”

“Absolutely not,” the Duchess says. “That’s inhumane.”

“Seriously,” DK says, sounding truly offended.

I raise my brows at the King. “You got a cat?”

“She has a cat,” Sy’s thumb jerks at his Duchess, but his tone softens just a notch.

“I’ve got a dog,” I offer. My mother always said to offer something about yourself if you want to get something in return. With that settled, I lean forward. “We’ve got a problem.”

Lavinia’s fork pauses halfway to her mouth. Sy keeps chewing.

“It’s a North Side thing,” I continue, “which is why we asked the Duchess to be here.”

DK picks up a menu and scans it. “You left a lot of people behind when you decided to blow daddy dearest off the map.”

Sy grunts like he’s already over it. “Not our problem.”

Lavinia wipes her fingers on a napkin. “There was collateral damage. I feel terrible about it, but the alternative would have taken out a lot more people.”

“This one is probably adjacent to collateral,” I tell her. “Sofia Martinez.”

“Who?” Sy asks, forehead creased. “Never heard of her.”

“Hold up,” DK says, waving over the waitress. She walks up, smacking gum between her overly red lips.

“You boys ready to order?” Her oval name tag says, ‘Gert.’

“I’ll take the breakfast plate. Scrambled, no toast, extra pancakes,” he peruses the back, “and a juice.”

He offers me the menu, but I wave it off. “I’ll have the same, but make my eggs over easy.”

“How about you, hon? Need another coffee?”

Sy gives her a tight smile. “Please.”

“Be back quick as a jiff,” Gert says, heading off.

“Who the fuck is Sofia Martinez and why should we care?” Sy asks, clearly growing impatient.

“She’s Bruno Perez’s half-sister.”

That gets Lavinia’s attention. She sets her fork down and brushes a lock of blue behind her ear.

“She kept it quiet. She is quiet, and she’s trying to stay that way. But someone’s following her. Sending her messages. DMs. She got marked and now she’s being hunted.”

Sy shrugs. “Still not our problem.”

“I thought you wanted to find who was picking off girls in Forsyth?” DK snaps. “Girls with connections to Royalty. Does it not matter if she’s related to someone you hate?”

I glance at Lavinia. Her lips are pressed tight, but there’s something in her expression that wasn’t there before. It seethes under the surface.

“Let me tell you one thing,” she starts, “if I didn’t know for a fact that Bruno Perez was dead, as in, I didn’t see his decapitated head at my feet, he’d be my number one suspect.

He was a pig with zero respect toward women, or anyone else, unless it got him ahead.

His frat, his family, no matter how distant, is not our problem. ”

“We’re new to all of this,” I admit. “I asked around with the guys in Beta Rho, it’s well known that Perez had beef with everyone in Forsyth. He’d kidnapped the Lady at one point and word has it Nick Bruin killed him for simply looking at you.”

Lavinia blinks, but Sy simply pushes his clean plate in front of him and props those massive arms on the table. “What’s your point?”

“Story Austin had her Lords to save her from Perez when she needed it. If Bruin hadn’t gotten to him, I suspect one of your other Dukes would have.

” My gaze flicks from the King to Lavinia.

“Not only does Sofia Martinez have no one looking out for her, she may be a way for us to catch whoever is doing this.”

She doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, “Where is she now?”

“I can take you to her.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” Lavinia says softly.

Sy’s jaw tightens. “We’re not babysitters.”

“No,” she says, glancing at Sy. “But I’m not losing another North Side sister if I can help it.”

The look they share is a full conversation, complex, and frankly something I don’t think I’ll ever experience with another person myself. Gert chooses that moment to return, placing plates in front of me and DK and pouring a fresh cup of coffee for Sy.

The moment she walks off, he sighs, pushing his hand into his curly dark hair.

“Fine,” he relents, “but I want something in return.”

“Sure,” DK says, cutting into his pancakes. “Name it.”

An uneasy feeling stirs in my gut at the casual way he sips his coffee before stating, “The Baroness.”

“What the fuck?” DK growls. “Are you insane?”

“He doesn’t want , want her,” Lavinia cuts in, shaking her head. “Jesus.”

“Then what?” I ask, feeling the rage vibrate off of DK.

“I want to talk to her about what she went through.”

“Good luck,” I tell him. “She doesn’t remember much.”

DK snorts. “And what she does remember sounds like it’s been scrambled with these eggs.”

“Yeah, well that’s where I come in,” he continues. “I can talk to her, or I can do something that may be even more effective, if I have your approval.”

“If you think you can figure out what’s going on in that crazy little head, be my guest.”

Sy doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t look at anyone, really. Just stares down into his coffee.

“I want to try hypnotism,” he says, quiet but sharp enough to slice through the air.

The table goes dead still.

DK stops chewing. I just blink at him.

“Hypnotism?” I repeat, like maybe I misheard.

Sy lifts his eyes, steady, unreadable. “I’ve been studying it in my graduate program.

It’s not like the crazy mumbo-jumbo you think.

It’s just about getting a person to a relaxed, safe state where they’re able to process things easier.

If there’s something buried in her head–something she saw, something she knows –we need it. I can get it.”

DK shoves his chair back, the legs screeching against the tile. “You’re not screwing with her brain.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her,” Sy says, voice firm. “But if you want to catch whoever took her, then we need answers. Fast.”

My pulse kicks. DK told me what happened when he took her to the riverbank. Arianette’s mind is as fragile as an antique clock. One wrong twist and the whole thing malfunctions. And now this guy wants to open her up and poke around?

DK looks like he wants to throw his plate at the wall, but he doesn’t. He just breathes hard through his nose and mutters something that sounds a lot like fuck all of this.

“The King will say no,” he says definitively.

Sy shrugs. “Then we don’t tell him.”

An airless beat covers the table.

“For what it’s worth,” Lavinia says slowly, “I think it’s a good idea, but,” she rests her hand on Sy’s, “I think we should wait until after the wedding.”

“A few more days won’t hurt.” Sy picks up his cup again and drinks, like we just agreed on the weather and not treason for me and DK and a potential war for him and his Dukes.

And me? I sit there, watching him over the rim of my cup, trying to ignore the voice in my head that says this is a very, very bad idea.